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“I’m gonna do it… Goddamn it, I’m gonna do it.” Courfeyrac’s eyes are wide and unblinking, set resolutely on the back of the man who is standing at the bar, awaiting the next round of drinks.
Across the table, Enjolras graces his friend with a sympathetic but ever so slightly exasperated smile and puts down his empty glass. “Do you want me to say something encouraging or to talk you out of it again?”
“Neither. Just be ready to pick up the pieces when I get shot down, heartbroken and totally humiliated. Oh god…”
Enjolras laughs dryly. “You see, this is why I don’t bother with this sort of thing! I can practically feel the nerves coming off you from here.”
Courfeyrac lowers his brow into a glare and pouts. “Not helpful man.”
“Sorry, I’m just useless with this stuff.”
“That’s because you’ve never really tried,” he says and mirrors the exasperated pity on Enjolras’ face back at him. “Come on Enj, it’s Valentine’s day. If there was ever a good night to take the plunge it’s gotta be tonight, yeah? You’ve turned up without any study books under your arm for once so I know you’re thinking about it. There’s gotta be someone here that takes your fancy.”
Enjolras visibly cringes at the words as well as the wink that accompanies them and fiddles nervously with his empty glass, mindlessly running his thumb around the rim. “You know as well as I do that if I HAD turned up with my books for this, you lot would have massacred me. And anyway, what happened to our single guys rebelling against this stupid holiday drinks pact? Aren’t we supposed to be united in our bachelordom?”
Courfeyrac smiles fondly at his friend. In spite of how frustrating he can be at times, it is nevertheless endearing how he tries to turn everything into yet another fight for justice of some kind, even when he doesn’t realise that he’s doing it. “You can fly the flag for bachelordom, by all means, but I don’t wanna die alone. And I’m sick of suffering in silence. It’s driving me insane. I mean, even if the worst happens and he turns me down or… or laughs in my face… it can’t feel worse than this, can it?”
Enjolras’ eyes widen at the expectation that he’s actually supposed to know how to answer that question. “He wouldn’t laugh in your face and you know it. It’s Ferre, for gods sake. You know him better than that.”
“Yeah… Guess I do,” says Courfeyrac and allows his gaze to wander back to the man in question who is now leaning his elbows on the bar as he waits, inadvertently giving Courfeyrac a perfectly formed view of his arse. Of all the nights he had to wear his tightest slacks!
Enjolras watches the longing loved up gaze on his friend’s face and feels like a third wheel somehow, wishing now that he had volunteered to help Combeferre with the drinks instead of Grantaire who is no doubt going to be responsible for the extra shots they will inevitably return with. The love that is emanating from Courfeyrac for the man he has secretly coveted for so long is wholesome and alien though it may be to Enjolras, he can’t help but be somewhat affected by it. Perhaps just a hint of him is curious. Luckily a hint can easily be drowned in beer.
“Besides which, you said yourself that the two of you have got even closer recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if-“
“Shut up man, they’re coming back!” Courfeyrac hisses and fidgets in his seat, trying to look relaxed.
Enjolras feel nervous for him as the two friends re-join them, Combeferre sliding back into the booth beside Courfeyrac as Grantaire places the tray of drinks on the table and reclaims his seat at the end of the table.
“What the hell?” Enjolras glares at the array of new glasses and then turns the glare to Grantaire who just laughs.
“Don’t worry mate, they’re not all for us,” Combeferre laughs gently. “Feuilly text me while we were at the bar to say that he and Bahorel are a few minutes away now.”
“Actually I was wondering what the hell that thing is?” Enjolras nods towards the small cluster of tumblers inside which is a vividly deep red concoction and atop each is a single whole strawberry, wedged onto the side of the glass. Making a statement without words about his view of such, he reaches past to one of the fresh bottles of craft beer and takes a long swig from it.
“That, my friend, is a redheaded slut,” Grantaire informs as he takes one of the glasses, places it in front of himself and takes an exaggerated deep breath as he contemplates it. “Peach schnapps, cranberry juice and a shot of Jagermeister. It’s the cocktail of the night apparently.”
“Seriously? We’re drinking cocktails now?”
“Redheaded slut,” Courfeyrac repeats and laughs as he leans forward to take one for himself. “Brilliant.”
“I would be grateful if I were you Enj. It was either this or another round of Absinthe shots but I talked him out of that one,” says Combeferre, shuffling back further in his seat and stretching his arm out against the cushioned backrest. Enjolras doesn’t miss the way it is tantalisingly close to being draped over Courfeyrac’s shoulders and from the look on Courfeyrac’s face, neither does he.
“Why is it the cocktail of the night?” Enjolras asks, forcing his gaze away from the two men on the opposite side of the table.
“It’s red,” says Grantaire, raising said drink to his mouth and downing it in one go, the leaves of the strawberry tickling his nose as he tips the glass up to empty the dregs. “Not bad actually.”
“What’s the colour got to do with anything?” Enjolras asks and feels the heat flush to his face when all his friends’ eyes fall on him with a joint expression of disbelief. “What?”
“Valentine’s day?” Grantaire prompts and when Enjolras looks at him blankly, he laughs softly and says, “Red for love, Apollo.”
Enjolras snorts derisively through his nose as he raises the bottle to his lips.
“Scoff all you like but even you can’t argue something as complicated as love,” says Grantaire.
“I’m not trying to. In fact, I totally agree with you on that. You can’t accurately depict something so complicated simply by assigning it a colour.”
“Oh god, here we go,” Courfeyrac sighs under his breath but smiles at Enjolras as he plucks the strawberry from his own glass and pops it in his mouth.
“Actually, it symbolizes a lot of the attributes of love and its associated emotions,” says Combeferre, finding it impossible to resist slipping into professor mode. “You have the typical references to strength and power and these tally up nicely with the intense heated energies like lust, passion and desire. It’s supposed to be a stimulating colour.”
Courfeyrac coughs around the strawberry that he’s still sucking on and fidgets in his seat.
“Enjolras wouldn’t know anything about that,” says Grantaire. “Celibate monk that he is.”
It sounds like a joke but Enjolras still glares at the man who is grinning at him.
“Plus you’ve got the fact that red is the colour of blood and blood is obviously associated with the heart which, again, brings you back to love,” Combeferre continues and looks quite proud of himself as he reaches for his own glass and sniffs it before taking a sip.
“Why are you guys talking about blood?”
The seated friends all turn their heads to acknowledge the arrival of Bahorel and Feuilly who both look equally disturbed by the topic of conversation as they pull up chairs at the table. Enjolras has to shuffle his own chair closer to Grantaire to make room for them and he doesn’t know why, but he feels embarrassed to be so close to the man that their arms are almost brushing against one another. Grantaire is uncharacteristically quiet. Enjolras doesn’t like it.
“We’re educating Apollo on why red is the colour of love,” Courfeyrac explains.
“What’s that got to do with blood?” asks Bahorel with a frown as he shrugs his jacket off and slings it over the back of his chair.
“Don’t you start,” Courfeyrac laughs.
“No, I get it! Love, sex, blood rushing to your cock. All makes sense,” Bahorel states confidently.
A rumble of low laughter erupts through the party.
“Oh god, here we go,” Combeferre says with an amused shake of his head as he takes a swig from his glass.
“Hey, you haven’t been stuck in the car with him for the last hour,” says Feuilly, slumping back in his seat with exhaustion and punctuating his words with an exaggerated sigh. “Please tell me one of those beers is for me.”
Combeferre reaches forward to slide one of the bottles across the table to him. “Here, catch up mate. Sounds like you’ve earned it.”
“Is this all of us now?” Enjolras asks as he sits forward and picks up his glass, deliberating over it for a second before he puts it down again, minus the strawberry which he starts nibbling on.
“I thought Bossuet and Joly were coming?” asks Feuilly, only just noticing the absence of the two men.
“They were,” Combeferre says pointedly. “Until Musichetta turned up just as they were about to leave.”
Bahorel lets out a derisory grunt. “So much for bros before hoes.”
“Yeah, but do any of us really blame them?” Courfeyrac interjects. “It’s Valentine’s day and they have a chance to spend it with the woman they both… well, maybe not love exactly, but… they get to have a lot more fun than us single guys.”
“Way to piss on our parade buddy,” says Bahorel. “I thought this was supposed to be about us sticking two fingers up to the social pressure of this cock-sucking bullshit day?”
“Eloquent,” says Enjolras but grins as he drops the stem of his strawberry into his empty glass. “Although you’re right.”
Grantaire says nothing still but plucks his own untouched strawberry from his glass and holds it out for Enjolras.
“What’s that for?” Enjolras asks.
“They’re your favourite fruit and I don’t want mine.”
“Oh… thanks.” Enjolras feels embarrassed again as he takes the offering and nibbles on it, glad to have something to do with his hands and his mouth to save him from having to offer any more words. He can feel Grantaire watching him.
“I’m not taking anything away from our lads night, I’m just saying,” Courfeyrac continues and Enjolras breathes a long breath of relief as quietly as he can around a mouthful of fruit. “I can’t be the only one of us around this table who would jump at the chance to go home with someone they… like… tonight.”
There’s a moment of silence during which Enjolras is trying to not look at either of the suddenly flushed faces of the two friends seated opposite him and wishing he wasn’t the only one who knew the secret they had both told him. With any luck, one of them will be brave enough to do something about it sooner rather than later, particularly if Courfeyrac continues to be as brave as he is trying to be tonight. Enjolras admires him for that. He is also aware that the sleeve of Grantaire’s arm seems to be prickling his skin somehow.
“Anyway, no one said anything when Jehan bailed so… you know… double standards, guys,” Combeferre adds and then laughs. “Although to be fair they ditched us for an online lecture on astronomy so maybe not quite the same thing.”
“I dunno. Spending Valentine’s day night with the stars. Something romantic about that,” says Feuilly wistfully.
“Not if you’re alone though,” Combeferre adds.
“Speak for yourself,” says Bahorel as he takes another swig from his bottle. “Is the only action I’m likely to get tonight.”
“Jesus man, too much information.” Courfeyrac laughs as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “That’s my cue to get the next round in. Same again yeah?”
“No more of those cocktails,” says Enjolras.
“I’ll have one,” says Grantaire. “And a beer too if that’s ok. These things are gone too quick.”
“They are when you’re around,” Courfeyrac notes and stands up to move before he realises he has to squeeze past Combeferre to be released from his side of the booth. He pauses for a moment and Combeferre suddenly jumps to his feet as he clocks that he’s in the way.
“I’ll come with you to help,” he says and neither of the departing men make eye contact with any of the other friends as they leave the little party and make their way to the bar. Enjolras smiles to himself.
Feuilly gets up too and pulls his coat back over his arms, prompting Bahorel to look up at him with a frown and ask “Where you going?”
“Fag,” he replies, and gets the carton of cigarettes out of his pocket ready, flipping it open and offering it to Bahorel, the only other smoker of the group. “You coming?”
“Can’t get enough of me,” Bahorel laughs as he helps himself from the carton and winks over at the only two seated remainders of their party, earning a roll of the eyes from Enjolras, before he follows Feuilly out to the beer garden.
It’s much too quiet at the table with only Enjolras and Grantaire sat now way too close to each other and neither saying a word. Grantaire is staring into the empty glass in his hand with far too much interest and Enjolras is wondering if he can push his chair back to its original position without seeming rude. Probably not, and pointless anyway considering their friends will all be back soon. Although not soon enough. He is still playing with the strawberry stem in his fingers but he leans forward to drop it into the empty bottle now and when he sits back in his chair, he can’t resist a sideways glance at his companion who is now staring unashamedly at him and instantly reddens to have been caught doing so.
“What?” Enjolras asks a little more defensively than he had intended.
Grantaire wrinkles his nose and then laughs nervously as he reaches a hand out to Enjolras’ face and presses his thumb gently to the space just below the left corner of his mouth. He strokes it quickly and softly over the man’s chin and then holds it out to show him and explains, “Strawberry juice.”
“Oh,” Enjolras mutters and feels the heat rush to his face. “Umm… thanks.”
Grantaire doesn’t say anything but keeps their eyes locked as he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the juice from it. Enjolras presses his lips tightly together and swallows hard. He doesn’t like the way his body is suddenly tingling all over and he can actually feel certain nerve endings pulsing beneath his flesh. No, its worse; he does like it. And that is beyond unsettling. He jumps swiftly to his feet and is vastly less concerned with appearing rude this time when he bolts towards the toilets without saying a word.
Considering the pub is getting steadily busier, he is both surprised and relieved to find the gents empty so that he can shut himself in a stall, lean back against the locked door, close his eyes and let out the long shaky breath that he hasn’t realised he’s been holding in. What the actual fuck…
“Enjolras?”
With his head still leant back against the door, Enjolras opens his eyes and tries to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Uh-huh?”
“Dude what the hell was that about? Are you ok?”
Grantaire sounds genuinely concerned and Enjolras is quick to see an opportunity. “Yeah, no worries. Just had a little too much to drink. Not used to it, you know? Be out in a mo.”
Grantaire doesn’t say anything in response to that and the relative silence in the room is soothing. Enjolras takes a couple of deep breaths and enjoys the temporary solitude as he begins to feel himself calm. The muffled music from the bar becomes momentarily louder when the doors open and he waits silently for whoever it is to finish relieving themself and exit his temporary sanctuary. A minute or two later when he is once again confident that he is alone, he unlocks the door of the cubicle and steps out, only to come face to face with Grantaire.
“What are you still… I said I’d be right out,” he says with unhidden annoyance.
Grantaire folds his arms across his chest and squints suspiciously. “You didn’t flush.”
“Jesus, do you need a running commentary of my digestive system? I thought I was gonna throw up but I didn’t, OK? Happy now?”
Grantaire, as usual, in unfazed by the prickliness. He’s more than used to it. He doesn’t take the bait because he’s entirely preoccupied with scanning his eyes over the man in front of him with concern. His arms drop to his side and he takes a step closer to him. “You’re shaking… Apollo, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Stop being so fucking nice, it doesn’t suit you,” says Enjolras, turning his back on Grantaire and walking over to the sink where he cups his hands under the running water and collects enough to splash onto his face.
“I’m always nice.”
“Not to me, you’re not.”
“Yeah, well I give as good as I get,” says Grantaire and Enjolras winces because even that is turning him on. “Besides, it’s easier to be mean to you and not have to…”
“Not have to what?”
Grantaire shakes his head abruptly and steps back. “Nothing, nothing. Forget it. I’m going.”
Finally alone, Enjolras looks up at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and stares unseeingly at his own eyes. He is winded by Grantaire’s words; not so much because of the words themselves but the realisation they have brought him to in his own mind. It is easier to keep a protective wall up between himself and Grantaire, built upon questionable strength bricks of berating and admonition, than to allow any natural flow of camaraderie to flow unchecked between them. Why has he always been so scared of that when he’s encouraged it so effortlessly with his other friends? Enjolras thinks he is starting to understand why and such a realisation makes him want to suddenly launch himself out of the window.
Back at the table, Bahorel and Feuilly have returned from their smoke and are chatting easily with Grantaire when Enjolras makes his way back to his seat. Thankfully neither of them look up from their conversation to even acknowledge him but he can feel Grantaire’s eyes watching as he purposely ignores him and picks up an empty bottle, fiddling with a loose corner of the sticker for something to do. He is relieved when Combeferre and Courfeyrac return from the bar with a tray of replenished drinks.
“Heads up,” says Combeferre, grinning. “The barmaid just asked us who the ‘new stud at the table’ is. Her words, not mine.”
Bahorel’s eyes light up as he straightens proudly in his seat but while unloading the glasses onto the table, Courfeyrac laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Not you, big fella.”
“Yeah, she specifically asked about the one in the ‘dashing red waistcoat’,” Combeferre adds, throwing a wink at Feuilly as he slides back into his seat. “And she said it with a straight face so I don’t think it was a joke.”
Bahorel lets out an angry sigh as he visibly sinks again in his seat and beside him, Feuilly can’t repress a laugh. “Ha! Who looks stupid now?”
“It’s the curse of the red again,” says Grantaire from across the table. “You seem to be right about it being a stimulating colour Ferre. Seems to be stirring up all sorts tonight.”
Enjolras coughs as he raises the new bottle to his mouth.
Feuilly gets up from his seat yet again and looks every bit as proud as he sounds. “Well cheers for this guys. It’s been fun and all but, ya know. Later losers.”
As he walks away to a chorus of disgruntled mockery, Grantaire calls to him. “Thanks for gracing us with your presence for ten minutes man. I’m having your beer though.”
Feuilly glances back over his shoulder to give him a thumbs up sign.
“Not to add insult to injury or anything but this will be our last one for tonight too,” says Courfeyrac with an irrepressible grin on his face. “Ferre’s gotta be up early for clinic tomorrow and we’re gonna grab some food on the way back to the flat.”
“Oh I could murder a kebab,” says Bahorel and doesn’t notice the quick look of panic that passes between Enjolras and the two men opposite him.
“You’ve only just got here. You can’t abandon us too, for gods sake,” Enjolras quips and doesn’t have to pretend to sound panicked. It is helpful that Courfeyrac and Combeferre clearly think it is on their behalf.
“Didn’t know you cared so much Enj,” says Bahorel as he grabs one of the beers from the table and holds it up in a mock toast. “At least someone wants me tonight! Whoever thought it’d be you of all people?”
“You could do a lot worse,” Grantaire mumbles just loud enough for Enjolras to hear, catching his eye briefly before he raises his voice accordingly. “The night’s still young dude. You might still get lucky.”
Enjolras slams his bottle down with such force that it sloshes out a puddle of beer on the table and draws the attention and collective silence of the group. “Fuck’s sake! Why does it always come back to sex with you lot? What happened to our single lads night, hey? What happened to solidarity?”
He is painfully aware of his own hypocrisy and equally as glad that none of his friends are, with the possible exception of Grantaire who is eyeing him with interest now.
“Who said anything about sex?” Courfeyrac is glaring, wide eyed, across the table at him.
“In Enj’s case, red clearly stands for anger,” says Combeferre and there’s a warning tone to his voice that Enjolras does not miss.
“I’m not angry… or red.”
Bahorel laughs loudly. “Tell that to your face, man!”
“Maybe some of us are just trying to think with our brains. You should try it for once.” Enjolras glowers at Bahorel but laughs weakly and shakes his head in disbelief when the man winks and blows him a kiss. “Such a twat.”
“Anyway, what do you mean trying?”
Enjolras tenses and a second later, Grantaire makes a play of getting to his feet, reaching for one of the empty bottles on the table and tapping it loudly against the neck of the one in his hand. “Ok, enough of this shit. I’m making a toast.”
“To what?” Enjolras asks quietly.
Grantaire looks down at him with a smile which lingers for just a fraction longer than he intended before he casts it upon the other members of the party. “To solidarity.”
“In all its forms,” adds Combeferre, raising his glass which he then clinks against the one in the hand of smiling man beside him and seems to forget that anyone else exists.
Bahorel nods resolutely and raises his bottle. “And colours. Whatever shade of red they might be and whatever they fucking stand for. Frankly I’m too hammered to know or care at this point.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” says Enjolras with a smirk that softens as he allows his gaze to fall again on Grantaire because he can’t seem to will it not to anymore. “To solidarity. I’ll drink to that.”
*
When Combeferre and Courfeyrac say their goodbyes and leave a short while later, no one is paying them much attention for the focus has now fallen on Feuilly who is still stood at the bar, engrossed in a seemingly endless flirtatious exchange with the barmaid and the two girls at his side for whom he has just bought a round of drinks.
“How the fuck does he do it?” Bahorel groans, shaking his head.
“I’m telling you man, it’s that waistcoat. The ladies love a dapper gent,” says Grantaire and laughs when Bahorel scoffs. “Shouldn’t have taken the piss!”
Enjolras is glad that neither of the remaining party can hear him when he claps his hand against Courfeyrac’s in a farewell gesture and whispers, “Good luck bro.”
Courfeyrac gives him a discreet wink as Combeferre, always the big brother of the group, leans down to pull Enjolras into a quick one-armed embrace. “Don’t let these two get you too pissed Enj. You know what they’re like.”
It’s code for you-are-a-ridiculous-lightweight-they-will-drink-you-under-the-table and Enjolras knows it but he is used to Combeferre looking out for him and he can’t argue it anyway because he’s right.
“Fuck this,” says Bahorel as he picks up his half empty bottle and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. For a moment, Enjolras panics that he’s going to have to think of a quick excuse to stop him from following the two men out the door, but he soon makes it clear that there is now something much more appealing than a kebab in his sights. “I’m not letting him get away with having three of them to himself while I’m sat here with you two. Wish me luck lads.”
Enjolras doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed when Bahorel swaggers over to his friend at the bar and doesn’t immediately return again. When one of the women shakes his hand and moments later laughs way too enthusiastically at whatever gem he has just blessed her with, Enjolras and Grantaire exchange a look of understanding. It’s now just the two of them.
“You want another?” Grantaire asks. “It’s my round anyway. Looks like I timed it well!”
Enjolras laughs and relaxes a little. “I don’t know if I can take much more.”
“You can have a soft drink. I won’t judge you.”
“Like hell you won’t!”
Grantaire holds his hands up in a show of surrender. “Hey, I’m serious. I propose a motion to suspend any characteristic insults of a mocking nature for the remainder of the night. But you have to agree to the same. We are both alone on Valentine’s Day. I’d say that’s insult enough, don’t you agree?”
Enjolras observes him with genuine confusion. “We are not alone. And I’m more than happy to have your company for the evening.”
Grantaire waits expectantly and when Enjolras frowns, he adds, “Sorry, I was waiting for the punchline.”
Enjolras laughs again. “You said yourself, no insults. This is me agreeing.”
“I’m sorry, I need you to just repeat that for clarification. Did you actually say you AGREE with me?”
“Stop pushing your luck and get me a damn diet coke.”
While Grantaire is at the bar, Enjolras listens to the words as they tumble back through his mind and he becomes so stuck on one specific part that when his companion returns, he doesn’t allow him time enough to even put the drinks on the table before he starts to quiz him on it. “Do you really think it’s an insult to be alone on Valentine’s Day?”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t alone?”
“You know what I mean. I didn’t think you were bothered by romance and stuff. In that way, I thought you were like me.”
Grantaire lifts his pint glass to his mouth but changes his mind before he takes a drink and sets it down again, turning his attention to Enjolras. “I do like you.”
Enjolras’ eyes widen. “I said, I thought you were like me.”
“OH! Shit… Well, there you go then.” Grantaire takes a long gulp of his drink. “And yeah, as a matter of fact, I do think I’m like you in quite a few ways. We’re not as different as everyone assumes.”
“The arguments would say otherwise.”
“People argue for all sorts of reasons. It’s not a fair indication of differences, sometimes it’s a clearer indication of similarities, don’t you think? Or are you gonna argue me on that?”
Enjolras smiles because he can’t help himself and leans his elbows on the table where, be it purposely or not, he is a little closer to Grantaire. He doesn’t worry so much about that now, however. “Yes… I am, as a matter of fact. But not until tomorrow. Don’t wanna break the truce.”
It’s too tempting not to lean in just a little closer and when doing so doesn’t make Enjolras jump out of his seat, Grantaire feels the strength grow within him. “I think arguments can be a useful tool to protect yourself too. When you’re with someone who makes you feel vulnerable, it’s safer to put a barrier up than let them get close enough to risk causing you pain and the easiest way to do that is with words. Sticks and stones, and all that. Words can cause scars that don’t heal if you choose the right ones and there’s no better defence than that.”
The smile has vanished from Enjolras’ face but he is staring at Grantaire with the kind of fascination he has never observed him with before and he likes it. He likes how it makes him feel. How Grantaire makes him feel. “Wow.”
“What?” Grantaire asks a little nervously.
“Just amazing that you can know someone for so long and they can still shock you. I didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.”
Suddenly, Grantaire laughs. “Oh Apollo, you don’t know the half of it!”
Enjolras wishes he was better with interpersonal interactions now because he doesn’t know if that’s his cue to ask for more information or a warning to leave it well alone and shut the hell up. Curiosity, somewhat aided by the amount of alcohol he has consumed, prompts him to go for the former.
“Go on then,” Enjolras says with a grin that does nothing to placate the nerves that are clearly etched in Grantaire’s expression.
“Go on… what?”
“You can’t say something like that and then not tell me more.”
“Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”
Enjolras feels a little guilty somehow for the sudden look of pain on Grantaire’s face and though he has the courtesy to stop grinning, he still can’t help himself from pushing the man further. It’s common ground with Grantaire anyway, even if it’s usually centred around a safer subject matter. He hopes he looks more empathetic, although he’s got no idea if he even knows how to pull off that look with Grantaire.
“In my experience… limited though it might be… people only say things like that when they want to unburden themselves. And if you’re gonna tell me anything, surely tonight is the night to do it while I’m forbidden from insulting you in any way, yeah? So come on, tell me what’s on your mind and I’ll shut up.” He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small handful of coins, opening his palm to count them. “Jesus, it’s a good job I haven’t gotta get another round in for everyone. Right, in the spirit of solidarity, I offer this,” he says and plucks the three coins from his hand and puts them down on the table in front of Grantaire. “Penny for them. And one of those is a pound so that one better be particularly good.”
Grantaire laughs as he sits back in his chair and takes a swig from his bottle. “Are you really that hard up for entertainment that you have to pay to hear my secrets? That’s pretty sad Apollo.”
“Making it worse, R. Come on, three coins so three facts that you think will shock me and if any of them do, I promise to extend this truce for a whole week.”
Grantaire shakes his head, smiling softly, and allows Enjolras to hold his gaze for a long moment before he finally relents with a hefty sigh. “All right dude, anything to shut you up. And I expect seven whole days free of antagonistic Enjolras in return for this.”
“Absolutely,” says Enjolras, looking proud of himself.
“Three shocking facts… let me see,” Grantaire begins and gazes into his bottle as if the answers are awaiting there. “Ok, well for starters, it was me who put the hash in those cookies that Jehan made last summer for the festival that made everyone high and he took the rap for, I haven’t even opened any of the emails you sent me about the last campaign and when I said my computer crashed and accidentally erased them I was totally lying and I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night.”
Enjolras just stares because he doesn’t know what else to do. Just like earlier in the bathroom, it’s not so much Grantaire’s words but what they unlock in himself; namely the realisation that he was hoping for something along those exact lines to be one of the confessions he would hear and now that he has, the euphoric roll of joy that sends shockwaves throughout his whole body is undeniable. And he likes it.
Grantaire is staring at him in return, looking too terrified to even blink or breathe.
Enjolras feels like he should say something to reassure him or put his mind at ease but he can’t remember how to speak in that moment so instead, he takes Grantaire’s bottle out of his hand, puts it on the table, and before he has enough time to talk himself out of it, he summons all his courage and leans in to press their mouths together in a strawberry beer flavoured kiss.
It is over too soon and when Enjolras begins to move his head away, Grantaire brings a hand up to press against his hair and draw him back. It feels like Enjolras is trying to smile and as much as Grantaire loves seeing that smile, right now he wants to prize those thin beautiful lips apart with his own and suck that smile right off his face.
“HOLY FUCK!” Somewhere in the background, there is the unmistakable sound of Bahorel’s thundering voice and the sound of it makes Enjolras and Grantaire pull apart slightly.
“Wanna take this back to mine?” Grantaire whispers because Enjolras is still close enough to hear him clearly.
“Lead the way.”
Neither of them speak another word as they rise from the table until Grantaire nods towards the chair his companion is about to walk away from. “Your coat.”
Enjolras has more than enough heat rushing through his body to deem such an item unnecessary, but he grabs it anyway and pushes his arms into the sleeves. It was a good choice to wear his favourite red coat tonight. He’s always liked the colour.
And it is Valentine’s Day, after all.